


fake smile

by themetgayla



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, Dissociation, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Harassment, amy is Anxious, its a mess, jake is depressed i’m sorry, the vulture is a pig, v brief mentions of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 02:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18022865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetgayla/pseuds/themetgayla
Summary: Jake’s always been protective.





	fake smile

**Author's Note:**

> i got the idea for this while rewatching the vulture episode in season one. i was thinking that jake would probably get pretty mad at the vulture for talking to amy in such a derogatory way, and thus this was born!
> 
> (any possible warnings are in the tags.)

Jake’s always been protective.

 

He doesn’t know what it is, but there’s this feeling in the pit of his stomach, this coil of anger just sitting there, and it makes him uncomfortable. He’d like to say the feeling doesn’t come often, but it does. It’s also annoying,  _ so  _ annoying, that it only seems to form when he’s around Amy.

 

Why does he have to like her? Why does he find her rich brown eyes so intoxicating, her skin so soft and her laugh so very sweet he feels like he’s floating on a cloud. His point is: he may or may not be just a little bit in love.

 

It therefore makes him just a teeny bit protective of his partner. He hates to admit it, because he’s never been the kind of guy that would ever restrict a woman from having what she wants, but he finds himself glaring whenever someone else so much as  _ compliments  _ Amy, too afraid that they’re going to steal her away from him without a second thought.

 

He supposes that the root problem is that he’s scared Amy will leave him. It’s stupid — believe him, he knows — but he can’t help the yearning in his heart, the deep ache that radiates through his being as he watches Amy flirt with men. Men that definitely aren’t him.

 

They’re only partners—  _ work  _ partners. They’re friends, yeah, but their relationship is strictly professional. It always has been. Amy’s never been one to mix work with pleasure, and she’s said so in passing more than once. Apart from the added fact Jake is sure she secretly hates his guts, that’s the reason he hasn’t acted on his overwhelming feelings before now and dared to ask her out.

 

Anyways, enough of that. The real problem on this breezy morning mid-March is that the Vulture is here, or  _ Detective Pembroke  _ as the Captain so respectfully refers to him. Not only does that piss him off for obvious reasons — the insipid man seemingly can’t stop himself swooping in and stealing all their cases — but he’s always incredibly rude to Amy.

 

The way he talks to her makes his blood  _ boil.  _ How dare he talk to her as though she’s just a piece of meat? The thought forces bile into his throat, and he has to press his nails into his forearms to make sure he doesn’t dive at the man and rip him to pieces.

 

Jake knows Amy can take care of herself —she always has something to snipe in return with that fire in her eyes Jake admires so much — but what hurts, what really  _ hurts _ , is the pain that flashes through her eyes for a split second before it’s tucked away out of sight. It’s the only reason Jake knows the Vulture’s comments affect her, because he’d never have known otherwise.

 

He’s highly aware that Amy always makes sure she comes across as a strong woman who’s capable of looking after herself, but maybe just this once she might need him to smash his fist into the Vulture’s smug face.

 

Usually he can hold back, mentally convincing himself that lashing out will only make things worse, but this time it’s just  _ too far _ . The harshly muttered “I’d grab that pussy any time” has anger racing uncontrollably through his veins, and before he can even blink he’s grabbing the Vulture by the collar and smashing his fist into his nose.

 

Everything else fades away as he shoves his whole body weight into the man and jabs his knee up into his testicles. He knows how much it hurts — he’s had more than one perp take delight in doing it to him —but the Vulture deserves the pain. He deserves so much worse. He’s pounding his fists down into the man’s skin, on any body part he can get his hands on, unable to hear anything but the derogatory words circulating round his mind, mocking him.

 

But then there are soft hands on his shoulders, tugging him away gently, palms sliding over his back, soothing him as he struggles to lunge for the Vulture who’s also being pulled away by Terry. Jake realises it’s Amy as soon as he’s hit with the scent of her vanilla and honey perfume he’s become so attached to. He finds himself pawing against her chest, tears leaking from his eyes as she pulls him into her arms and lets her fingers wander up his back, rubbing soothing circles into the plaid.

 

All Jake can hear are soft mutters as he’s pulled from the bullpen and into the evidence locker by who he guesses is Amy. He’s leaning against her heavily, those words still deafening in his mind, drowning out her gentle coos, trying to coax him back to reality.

 

Her concerned face swims before his eyes as he stares out blearily, body twitching as he tries to rid the comment from his head. As Amy cups his cheeks, smoothing the soft pad of her thumb over his cheekbones as she mumbles his name over and over again, like a mantra.

 

“Jake, sshh, it’s okay,” she whispers, tears forming in her own eyes as she watches Jake battle with his mind to come back to reality. He finally appears before her, still barely lucid but  _ there _ . He steps towards her and drops his head into the crook of her neck, pressing his body into hers, desperate to feel something real and solid to drag him out of his head.

 

Jake slowly materialises in Amy’s arms, reality slipping back into place like pieces of a puzzle. Dissociation  _ sucks _ , but reality means he  _ feels _ , and he’s not quite sure he’s ready for the pain that’s about to hit him square in the chest in less than a minute.

 

He also becomes painfully aware of how close he and Amy are, their bodies pressed together, chest to chest. It’s risky, too risky for the overwhelming emotions crashing into him at a million miles an hour. He can’t do this, not when he’s so vulnerable, so open to Amy’s honeyed voice and soft caresses. He can’t explain why he flew off the handle, he  _ can’t _ .

 

And so he runs.

 

* * *

Jake never really avoids people, but he finds himself avoiding Amy.

 

He even takes sick days off work, the first in  _ years _ . He won’t answer anyone’s calls, not even Charles’ hundreds of texts begging him to to respond. (Guilt tugs at his gut every time his friend’s name flashes up on his screen.) Amy calls. She even turns up at his apartment on Tuesday, banging insistently at the door, threatening to break the door down if he doesn’t answer it “right this second”.

 

He doesn’t answer, and she doesn’t break it down. She hears her pained sigh, and then the click of her heeled boots as she shuffles away, dejected.

 

Jake just lies in bed, too depressed to move. He’s always been rather high-functioning, but his bad days are  _ bad _ . He won’t eat, move, or talk. He just lies there, plagued with the haunting thoughts of Amy hating him, abandoning him, of her finding out his deepest secret and using it to exploit his every move.

 

It becomes apparent to him that perhaps his abandonment issues are a little more concerning than once thought, especially when his mind wanders to the dark place of  _ is it even worth sticking around anymore?  _ He should probably see a therapist, but he’s broke and ugh, who has the time to set aside every week to talk about stuff? Let alone  _ feelings _ . (Yes, they’re terrifying.)

 

The more Jake thinks about it, the more convinced he becomes that Amy hates his guts, especially since it’s been three days since she last texted him. Everything’s been a little quiet actually, and Jake wonders if anyone cares anymore.

 

(It’s not like he  _ expects  _ them to care, but maybe there’s a tiny part of him that wants them to. Okay, he’s lying, there’s a huge part of him that wants them to,  _ needs  _ them to.)

 

He’s drifting in and out of a troubled slumber when his phone rings, the sharp ringtone cutting through the deafening silence. Groaning, Jake forces himself to roll over to check who it is.

 

It’s Holt.  _ Dammit. _

 

He can’t ignore his da— Captain, can he? It’s the driving thought of not upsetting his father figure that he forces his fingers to slide across the bed and press the green button on his phone screen. It’s the most he’s moved in a week — apart from going to the bathroom — and it took  _ way  _ more effort than it should.

 

“Jake?” Holt’s admittedly concerned voice floats into the room. All Jake can manage is a warbled cry in response. “Jacob, are you okay?”

 

“No,” Jake whispers, his voice quiet and broken.

 

“Are you sick, Jake?”

 

“I— I don't know.” This whole talking thing requires a lot more effort than Jake was hoping, but the sound of the Captain’s voice is calming, and he finds himself mesmerised by the even tone through the speaker.

 

“I’m sending Santiago over, okay? I’m giving her a key. She’s worrying herself sick over you.” Jake knows Holt would never make him feel guilty on purpose, but the acidic sting in his gut makes tears well up in his eyes at the thought of Amy worrying about him.

 

He mumbles a response and waits for the line to go dead, before pressing his face into his pillow and releasing a keening cry. How could he have let this happen? He was supposed to be protecting himself, and Amy from him and his destructive habits. He thought he was doing so well. But apparently not.

 

The thought of Amy being sick is bad enough, but all because of him? He’s pretty sure it’s the worst pain he’s ever felt. It’s eating him alive, gnawing on his insides as he curls into the smallest ball he can and allows his thick tears to seep into the thin pillowcase beneath him.

 

* * *

Jake jolts as he hears the sound of a key rattling in the lock. Fear grips him for a split second, before he realises it’s only Amy. Only Amy.  _ Calm down, Jake, just breathe. It’s Amy, your coworker and friend. Be cool about this. _

 

It’s safe to say he isn’t prepared for the pitiful gasp that escapes Amy’s mouth, or the sight of her tightly plaited hair and smudged eyeliner. He didn’t realise his actions had tipped her into the Santiago Panic Scale.  _ Panic. _

 

“No, go away,” Jake mumbles, turning his head away from where Amy stands in the doorway, dark eyes shining with concern and another emotion he can’t quite pinpoint. He doesn’t want to hurt Amy anymore. She’d be better off without him.

 

But she doesn’t leave. Instead, she takes a step forwards and clears her throat softly. Her anxiety is palpable in the sharp silence, but she continues walking until she reaches the bed, where she sinks down into the thin mattress. There’s a pause, and Jake assumes it’s because she doesn’t know what to say. (He’s right.) It’s not like Amy’s ever seen him in a state that doesn’t hide his crippling depression and gripping fear of abandonment.

 

“Please go,” he tries again. Jake’s torn. He wants Amy to stay more than anything, but he knows he’ll end up fucking everything up and leaving, just like his dad did all those years ago.

 

Amy stays. She shifts, and opens her mouth. “Jake, I— I’m usually so good at words and knowing what to say, but this time I, uh, I have no idea what to say. A-Are you okay? I mean, god, of course you’re not.  _ Stupid Amy _ . But um, is there anything I can do?”

 

Jake holds his breath. He wants to tell her so badly, to just let everything out and finally have the crushing weight of his secret lift from his chest. He can’t though, he just—

 

“I’m in love with you.”

 

Shit. No no no no no. Fuck fuck fuck.

 

“Uh—”

 

“I’m so sorry, just… forget I said anything. I’m sorry. Please go.” Tears roll down Jake’s cheeks, carving trenches into his pale flesh as he buries his face into his pillow and opens his mouth in a silent scream. How fucking stupid can he get? 

 

He’s ruined everything. Amy will no longer want to talk to him, Amy will hate him, Amy will transfer to another state, Amy will—

 

“Jake, listen to me.” Amy’s soft voice pulls him out of his panic, though his breaths are still shallow and he’s verging on the edge of a panic attack. “I love you too. I’ve never said anything because I have that stupid “no dating cops” rule. But you’re just— you’re different. And I love that. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I can do my very best to help you through it.”

 

Jake’s doesn’t know what to say. Amy likes him? In what universe?

 

“Jake sweetie, are you okay?”

 

He nods frantically, words stuck in his throat as he heaves himself up onto his elbows and allows his lips to split open into a shy smile. It occurs to him for a split second that Amy might be fucking with him, but then he sees the blinding smile on her face as she surges forwards and cups his cheeks with her palms.

 

Before he realises what’s happening, she’s pressing a soft kiss to his lips, hovering carefully to give him space to pull away if he wants to. Jake pushes back up to meet her, his whole body melting into the tender kiss.

 

Maybe things will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed it!! please let me know what you thought & leave kudos. any feedback is greatly inspiring.


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